


the warmth of memory

by purplecrescent



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aang (Avatar)-centric, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, aang is an emotionally intelligent king, and finding love and happiness in the present, and how aang found new love in his new family, just an exploration of the swamp episode philosophy, just how aang and katara support and understand each other so well, survivors of genocide and trauma healing each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:00:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25692463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplecrescent/pseuds/purplecrescent
Summary: When he closed his eyes like this he could still feel the sun of his youth on his face. He drew in a breath, hoping to take some of the scent, some of the noise, inside of him.Or, while Katara shaves him, Aang reflects on his childhood in the Southern Air Temple and the things that tether him back. In other words, time is an illusion
Relationships: Aang/Katara (Avatar)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 157





	the warmth of memory

“Sorry,” Katara grimaces slightly, worried she’s shaved the last line a little too hard, too fast.

“It’s okay,” Aang reassures, beaming at her reflection in the mirror. “You didn’t get me.”

She smiles gratefully before looking back down to his head, continuing to move the small blue blade across his scalp, parting a sea of bubbles as she does so. Aang sits on a stool in front of her, his head covered in white soap, small drops of water falling onto his shirt.

It's early summer in Ba Sing Se, and Aang and Katara finally having their own private space in the city. It's a beautiful time of year. The season turning pinks and yellows to bright orange, lengthening the hours they can nap in the afternoon sun, and ripening the fruit hanging heavily from trees.

Today, from Aang's shower, the whole bathroom smells like lavender and clean skin. The small room still slightly steamed, the open window bringing a welcome breeze and the delicate flurry of evening noise.

Outside they can hear soft wind chimes, and lively birds, the sound of children running down the block calling for someone to hurry and pass the ball.

Every so often they hear the fruit vendor outside fulfilling someone’s purchase, the tinkling of coins into the tin on his stand, the lilting of laughter at one of his produce themed jokes. Katara can almost see the crinkling of his old eyes, a sight she has grown so used to when buying fruit for them. His smile that makes her feel calm in a way she can't quite explain.

She likes that he sometimes lets his eyes close completely with the force of his laughter, that he made Aang bite back a smile and point to him accusingly when he tried to give them fruit for free. Twice, he sighed happily, putting a weathered hand to Aang’s, saying “You two are so lucky to have each other.”

When they walk back inside, Aang always says he likes his gentle spirit, that his kindness reminds him of the years before the war.

In the two weeks they've lived in the apartment, Aang and Katara have stopped by the fruit vendor’s stall five times. They always say it's because they're craving something specific, but really they just want his company.

Their counter had been bursting pink and red, over filled with fruit, much to the delight of Momo, and the neighborhood birds who sat on the windowsill waiting to snatch something. Aang was all too encouraging of them. Finally, they had Sokka take most of it home to Suki, knowing she liked the tart apples that weren’t sold in their neighborhood.

The noise outside quiets slightly as Aang speaks again.

“Thank you for doing this,” he ventures, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “It’s always been a little hard to get the back bit.”

“Of course,” Katara nods, smiling to herself before meeting his eyes again. “We couldn’t have the Avatar showing up to his meetings patchy could we? It’d be unprofessional," she pauses, her voice teasing, "and more importantly, Toph wouldn’t be able to call you Baldy.”

Suddenly, Aang laughs, throwing his head back slightly, almost causing Katara to nick him in the process. The sound fills up the room warmly, his body shaking against her stomach, accidentally leaving a small streak of soap on the front of her dress.

When he leans up again he's still chuckling softly.

“Oh somehow I think she’d still find a way.”

“That’s true,” Katara relents, leaning forward to place a soft kiss to Aang’s cheek.

He hums in response, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of her hair, the loose strands falling towards him with her movement. He can feel the curve of her smile against him as she pulls away.

He opens his eyes, sighing peacefully as a carriage rolls down the street below them, the sound of children calling each other to get out of the way wafts into the room, then the children's game resumes.

“Really though, thank you,” Aang continues. “I know it can be annoying to do. Plus, it’s a sacrifice for you.” Katara’s eyebrows knit together in confusion as Aang tries to bite back his teasing smile.

“You know,” he says cheekily. “Seeing how much you love my hair.”

Even as Aang tells his own joke he feels his heart seize in his chest, remembering a 14 year old Katara sitting in front of him on a rocking Fire Nation ship. Her eyes shining, a smile playing across her face as she said: “I like your hair.”

At the time, Aang had been too shocked he had hair, and later distracted with his escape attempt, to think about what Katara had said.

But the following night, lying between her and Sokka on the soft earth, it was all he could think about. His stomach flipping over and over again, replaying her words and the look on her face in his mind. He wasn’t sure if he had ever seen that look from her before, but he was so enamored by it that he had to continuously open his eyes to see anything besides it.

“Well someone’s feeling awfully confident today,” Katara’s kidding reply snaps him back to reality, and as he looks at her reflection there it is again - that look. The soft curve of her mouth, the adoration swimming in her eyes.

“I do like your hair,” she continues, laughing just a little, a sweet sound like ice in a glass. “Because it's yours, Aang.”

Aang smiles, tapping his chin with his finger, considering. “Is this my formal go-ahead for the beard then?” he asks, playfully raising his eyebrows at her.

“And I stand corrected,” she shakes her head, shaving another line across his scalp.

“Aw c’mon Katara,” he pouts at her in the mirror. “Then you could get my head while I shaped up my beard." He perks up, sitting tall and smiling. "That sounds fun right?”

Katara giggles, shaking her head again, moving the blade to the curve just below his ear. “Probably more for you than me.”

A warm breeze blows through the room, sending their thin curtain curling back towards them, heavy with air. Aang settles it with his hand and closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of juniper and the subtle current of burning incense.

The air is warm, still a month away from growing wet and heavy with heat. It smells like home, and the laughter of the children outside makes his stomach flip.

“You know,” Aang starts, keeping his eyes closed, his voice thoughtful. “No one has shaved my head since I was a kid.”

Katara's hand stutters, her motions pausing on his scalp for just a moment, but she can tell he notices, his eyes opening to watch her as she continues.

“You shaved each other’s heads?” She asks curiously, bending up water from the basin to rinse the section she’d finished.

“Sometimes,” he smiles lightly. “When we were little the monks did it.” Aang's smile grows wide as he continues. “I remember once I was so fidgety because I wanted to go and play, that Gyatso pretended to nick me just to get me to sit still.”

Katara smiles softly, reaching out with her free hand to run her fingers down Aang’s shoulder and arm. She keeps her voice light.

“That worked? I’ll have to hold onto that one for later use.”

Aang chuckles, and her smile grows.

“I’d like to think I’ve learned a thing or two since then.”

Their smiles falter, the unexpected heaviness of his words lingering in the warm air. Aang swallows hard.

Holding his gaze, Katara slowly places the blade on the sink, wrapping her arms around Aang’s front, letting her chin rest on his shoulder.

He leans into her, temple to temple, closing his eyes as she speaks softly to him.

“Gyatso sounds wonderful,” she breathes, repeating the words she often does about Gyatso, about the other Airbenders, and all his old friends. The words he returns about her mother, about the members of her tribe she knew as a girl.

Aang keeps his eyes closed. He can still smell the incense wafting in through the window, he can hear a ball bouncing against their building and a young voice yelling “Score!” He draws in a breath, hoping to take some of the scent, some of the noise, inside of him.

When he closes his eyes like this he can still feel the sun of his youth on his face, he can remember the way his stomach flipped and rose when he used a glider for the first time, he can feel the rumble of sky bison landing next to him in the cool grass.

The children playing outside remind him of his friends yelling when he scored three times in a row in airball, the heavy thud of his body when they jokingly sent him flying to the ground as payback. He can remember the laughter in their voices as he brushed grass off his arms, and then the laughter in his own when he jumped back up and scored again.

He hasn't told Katara yet, but the fruit vendor across the street reminds him of Gyatso. He's generous and gentle, tall and lean, and has Gyatso’s same kind eyes.

When he and Katara buy from him he often gives out produce based puns to make Aang laugh, and when he touches his hand it feels like walking up a mountain to meet someone at the top.

Aang remembers Gyatso’s voice the most, the warm timber, the slight accent he hasn't heard since he was twelve. He can hear him clapping after he sneezed himself high into the air, saying "Now that was a good one, my boy."

He remembers how he would hold his stomach when he laughed, his eyes closed, his head thrown just slightly back. He remembers the smell of pies filled with purple berries, the cool wind whipping past his face and Gyatso smiling up at him from the ground, the warm skin of a sun soaked hand placed on his shoulder.

When the fruit vendor told Aang he and Katara were lucky to have each other it felt like the closest thing he would ever have to Gyatso’s blessing, to Gyatso getting to meet Katara and to Katara getting to meet him.

When Aang speaks next it's quiet, but he smiles, his hand coming up to squeeze Katara’s arm affectionately.

“He was.”

Katara holds him tighter, letting the silence linger for a few moments before she speaks again.

“It wasn’t your fault, Aang.”

He takes in a long shaky breath.

For a moment the arms around him aren’t Katara’s but those of old friends, warm and strong. For a moment the smell of incense outside is Gyatso lighting a candle, sitting down next to him and asking about his day.

“I know,” Aang's voice comes out soft but sure.

It has only been in the last few years that Katara has gotten this response out of him. The heavy guilt is slowly unburdening him, getting lighter, like clothes falling from shoulders.

“I don’t have to help you shave if it’s painful for you,” she whispers.

Aang opens his eyes quickly and softens at their reflection in the mirror; Katara holding him securely, eyes closed, her hair spilling over his shoulder, head resting next to his.

He shakes his head slowly against hers, softly pressing his temple further into her. She opens her eyes, meeting his and he smiles, letting the heavy moment wash over them, cool and swift as rain.

“No,” he says finally. “I like having you shave me,” he draws in a deep breath and sighs. “It helps me remember.”

Katara nods, pressing a long kiss to his temple. She stands up slowly, sliding her hand across his collar and squeezing his shoulder.

“I’m glad,” she says. “I like it too.”

Aang watches her in the mirror as she stands, his heart skipping as she smiles, reminding him of just how new Katara's love is too. A love he would have never met in his old life.

Seeing her now reminds him of the way she smiles languidly, eyes barely open, to tell him she loves him in the yellow hours of morning. Of the way she sputtered when he soaked her with a huge wave. How he had felt so bad he rushed over and smoothed the wet strands of her hair, the ones stuck in ringlets against her forehead, back over her scalp.

Of the way she grabs his hand while walking down the street, fingers hot and intertwined.

How one night, Sokka had put his arm around his shoulder, squeezing tightly, saying he was very grateful to him, he had never seen Katara so happy.

Aang thinks of how Katara has always woken him from his nightmares, cool hands and warm words. How, depending on her mood, when he tells her she's beautiful she rolls her eyes and laughs, or blushes profusely, cheeks pink as memory.

He remembers a rainy day in the Jasmine Dragon, last fall, Sokka telling a long winded story, and Toph hitting his arm when he left out her part. His own smile wide, Katara's legs resting in his lap. How Zuko had walked in, somehow still warm even through the rain, saying he was glad to see them.

He breathes in the gift of her simply standing in this room with him, shadows lifting and falling over her face as clouds roll over the sun.

With all the loss he holds, he has been gifted with new joy, new family, new and different love.

Aang meets her eyes, a teasing smile spreading across his face.

“Are you sure you don't just like it because you could easily shave off my beard too?" he slouches his shoulders in mock disappointment and she scoffs, hitting his arm playfully before he catches her hand in his own.

Katara shakes her head, trying and failing to hold back her laughter. Because really, Aang’s ability to find the light in any situation, to turn melancholy discussions into loving banter, is one of her favorite things about him.

She can still hear his twelve year old voice in her head when she told him that just maybe there was a bright side to all of this. She can still see his face when he smiled up at her, no hesitation, and said “I did get to meet you.”

Now here she is, shaving his head as he holds her hand. In their own apartment here they are laughing, years after the end of a war that should have robbed their lives of happiness.

In this room with all their grief shouldered between them, and love resting heavily in their chests, Aang's words feel enormous.

He runs his thumb across the back of her hand as she speaks again.

She smiles. "You should be grateful you have a girlfriend who'd put in the time to do both."

He pulls her closer, fingers tangling as the bright light outside slowly gives way to orange, as the sound of fruit rolling down the street elicits yells from adults and children alike.

Aang smiles at her, squeezing her hand tightly.

“That’s just part of the whole package.”


End file.
